


Exorcism

by TheArtisticIntrovert



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: a lot of latin + zalgo text, blood tw, i got challenged to write an exorcism fic, so i did, starring the pavii versions of danny and phantom, yucky gross body fluids (snot) mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtisticIntrovert/pseuds/TheArtisticIntrovert
Summary: Who you gonna call?Certainly not Wes Weston, HE thinks that KIDNAPPING is the solution to your problems.OR: Danny Fenton and the Case of the Acid Shower





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok that summary is shit give me a break it's like four in the morning and i haven't slept. my fingers are numb, my back feels like someone's driving a jackhammer through my vertebrae, and my brain is melting out of my ears. i have looked at more religious websites than i ever have in my LIFE, all to bring you this fic.
> 
> enjoy.

He wasn’t sure how it came to this. The last thing he could remember was meeting........ _ someone  _ behind the school building, then nothing. He opened his eyes, though he immediately closed them again when his retinas were assaulted by a blinding multicolored light. Not really eager to repeat the experience, he decided to take stock with his other senses for now, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

 

He was sitting in a chair, a wooden one, judging by the rigidness. Not only that, he also seemed to be tied tightly to said chair, ropes winding around his chest, legs, and wrists, allowing him next to no wiggle room. Only his head was free, a small mercy. Carefully, he tapped into the chill in his chest, breathing in deeply through his mouth, tasting the air. A wave of unfamiliar tastes washed over him, though one stood out sharply among the rest. A sickly citrusy taste, like sour lemon soda left out on the counter in the summer sun.

 

Smug arrogance. He scowled, lip pulling back to bare his fangs. “Finally awake?” He looked up, eyes snapping open again at the unfamiliar voice. This time, the light wasn’t quite as bad. He shook his head, focusing on the person who’d spoken.

 

An old man, clothed in a long black priest’s robe, with a thick wooden rosary around his neck. He had short salt and pepper hair, pale skin, and thin, wire-framed glasses. Danny frowned at the smile on his face, discreetly tasting the air again.

 

Bitter, like soured candy. Apprehension. But not fear. And certainly not arrogance. So then, where....? He glanced around the room quickly, but didn’t see anyone else. Already the taste was fading. They’d left the building, some time ago. His scowl faded, morphing into a grimace.

 

“Where......where am I? Who are you?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse. The priest smiled, clasping his hands together.

 

“My name is Father Erin Taylor, and you’re currently in a back room in St. Gertrude’s,” he explained, spreading his arms wide as he spoke. Danny wasn’t amused. He tugged at his bindings, cursing mentally when they didn’t so much as budge. He’d have to get creative to get out of these, and he couldn’t do that with Father Taylor standing  _ right there.  _ He was just glad that whoever tied him to this chair let him keep his hoodie, or he’d be having some serious rope burn right about now.

 

“Ok, great, awesome. Now,  _ why  _ am I here? Last I checked, I was at school,” Danny said snarkily, thoroughly fed up with the entire situation. Father Taylor smiled calmly, clasping his hands together again. He made eye contact with Danny, but somehow still seemed to be looking  _ through  _ him.

 

“Spirit, leave this child. You are no longer welcome here, this realm is not yours to continue to dwell in,” Father Taylor said, fingers tangled in the string of his rosary as he spoke, voice firm and commanding. Danny winced as he felt something inside of him recoil, the little voice in the back of his mind he’d always attributed to stress hissing in pain. Father Taylor took a step closer, tugging the cross around his neck gently until the beads untangled, the length of the cord suddenly doubling. He shoved it in Danny’s face, who instinctively recoiled at the threat to his personal space.  _ “Ecce crucis signum, fugiant phantasmata cuncta! _ Leave now, specter!” he snapped, pulling a flask out of a pocket in his robes with his free hand.

 

He started chanting once more, his voice angrier, but still firm. Danny squirmed in discomfort, feeling like something was tugging at his heart from the inside. Father Taylor opened the flask, dumping the contents onto Danny’s head as the chanting grew louder. Danny squirmed in his chair, screaming in pain as whatever was in the flask started to burn, his thrashing only making it worse as the liquid splashed everywhere on his face, hair, and hands. In some back corner of his mind, he was grateful for the hoodie now, as whatever had splashed there didn’t harm him. The tugging feeling grew stronger, as whatever was inside of him tried to get away from the pain.

 

His eyes flashed a bright, poisonous green as his face twisted in anger, a voice that wasn't his own making itself heard. "̶͞W͘H҉̧O͢͝ ̢̀͞T̷H͞҉̵E͠ ̢̨H̸̷E̕L̛̕L͏ ͞D̛҉O̶̶̡ ͡Ý͘̕O͞U̵̢ T̷̛Ḩ̢I̷͘N̛͠͝K̢͜ ̢̕͟Y̵O͏҉U͏̸̀ ̵ _ AR̴͠E͜?̷!̕͜͠  _ ́T̸̴͠R҉̢YI̕͟NG TO̵ ̴G̴͟È̴́T́ ̨R͟͝Į̧̕D̢ ͘͠OF̶ ̧͞҉M̴̕Ę̴,̸ ̨͡T͞Ŕ̴Y͠I͏̷͞NG̴ ͠T͠Ò TE͜͞A̡͝R̶̨ ̀҉M̸͟͡E̛ ̡̕A̴̕W҉A͜͜Y̶͜͡ ̨͜F̧R҉̧͞Ǫ͡M̧͘͞  _ ͘M̷̛Y̴̨  _ OTH҉E̡R͢?̡͟͢!҉҉̕"̷͜ He squirmed and thrashed harder, tugging at the ropes with his full strength. Danny started to panic a little when they didn’t snap, didn’t even fray. Phantom snarled, eyes flaring brighter as his hair started to float, the strands crackling with static electricity as sparks flew out of his mouth. The priest just continued to chant, each line increasing the tugging until Danny felt like he was being split in two. Phantom clung desperately to the warmth he used to hate, digging his metaphorical claws in and refusing to budge, even as he could feel the repeated prayers and the acid weakening his hold.

 

“Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it stOP IT STOP IT  _ STOP IT!  _ YOU’RE HURTING ME,  _ STOP IT!”  _ Danny screamed, not even sure who he was pleading to anymore. His ghost, for refusing to leave him? The priest, for continuing his prayer? Both of them? Tears leaked out of his eyes, tracing trails on the raised edges of his scars as Phantom continued to scream death threats using his mouth. “I’m sorry I’ll be good I’ll stop beating up ghosts just stop it!” he whispered, choking out his words through a very violent monologue involving Father Taylor’s ballsack, a rubber band, and a speeding train.

 

And finally, it stopped. Hovering in front of him was a figure he knew only too well, his ghostly other half. Danny felt...... _ empty,  _ and his brain couldn’t catch up to the absence as he slumped in the chair. Father Taylor banished Phantom, sending him somewhere Danny wasn’t sure he’d ever get to, to live out his half of an afterlife until Danny himself finally gave up the ghost to join him on the other side. Dimly, he registered Father Taylor asking how he was feeling, but he couldn’t hear very well over the roaring of blood in his ears.

 

He hadn’t yet stopped trembling. Blood leaked out of his nose, mixing with the snot and tears to form a disgusting mucus that ran down his face and stained his jeans. “Just kill me....” he whispered hoarsely, though he couldn’t even hear his own words.

 

He wasn’t sure if he’d even said them.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Latin: behold the emblem of the Cross; let all specters flee (according to the WikiHow i got it from)  
> ZALGO: WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! TRYING TO GET RID OF ME, TRYING TO TEAR ME AWAY FROM MY OTHER?!


End file.
